"Being here," said he, "I may as well go in and visit the halt and the lame. I wonder how much damage I did those two parties. Maybe I'll find them in their beds."
He entered the office. Behind the desk was the thick-necked young man with the low, stand-up collar.
"Hello," saluted Scanlon. "Where's the boss?"
"Not feeling right," replied the thick-necked one. "Got a cold, I guess. Settled in his throat."
Bat turned away with a grin hidden behind one hand. In the lounging room of the place he looked about for Big Slim; not seeing him, he ascended the stairs and knocked upon a door on the third floor.
"Come in," said the voice of the lank burglar.
Bat pushed open the door, and found the man standing in the middle of the floor, pulling on his coat.
"Just run up to see if I couldn't drag you off to get some eats," said Bat, cordially.
"I'm hungry," said the burglar, "but I don't know if I can work my face or not." He displayed a swollen region extending from his left eye to the angle of his jaw; besides being puffed and painful looking, it was badly discolored. "Get that? Some bump, eh?"
"I should say, yes," replied Scanlon. "How did it happen?"
"Last night," stated Big Slim. "I spotted a fellow in the dark who's turned a trick on a friend of mine. So I made a try to get him. But," with candor, "I didn't. He got me."
"Tough," sympathized Bat. "But wait! Maybe you'll have your chance to come back. You never can tell."
Big Slim grinned. With his distorted face this was not a pleasant sight, and the look in his eyes was sly and wicked.
"I'll get back," said he. "Leave it to me for that. I'll lay him out so stiff that a slab in the morgue'll be bent like a pretzel in comparison."
Bat looked at the man with all the unrestraint of the practiced negotiator.
Again the sly, wicked look came into the eyes of the burglar.
"Don't be in a hurry," said he. "You'll know when the time comes."
Bat drew in a deep, silent breath at this; and when the burglar threw open the lid of a trunk, which he dragged from under the bed, and took from the tray a black, well-oiled automatic pistol, he felt a tightening of the scalp. But Big Slim put the weapon in his pocket.
"No one's ever tagged me out without me landing on his neck," declared he. "I do it one way or another, but I always do it."